I Don't Think We're in Kansas Anymore
by Minato's Moustache
Summary: When Jez finds a cylinder on the floor and a series of pictures flash through her brain, she finds herself and the daybreakers travelling through time. This'd be fine, if not for the fact they have no way home, and someone's watching their every move.
1. Chapter 1

**When history and Night World get together, it's the best party ever. I have Writers Block, so you get fanfiction, dear anons. This is an actual story, I haven't written it to screw with anyone, or to support gay rights, like with everything I write these days. **

'**Sanyone watching True Blood? "YOU OWE ME A PLAQUE, STACKHOUSE." **

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><p>"I am so bored. Forever." Jez groaned, flipping from her back and onto her stomach, somehow executing a kick to Morgead's face, "does anyone have anything to do? Like, a 64, or San Andreas."<p>

"We could play Truth or Da-"

"NO," everyone screamed in Poppy's face. By everyone, I of course mean the G8 of Night World; Jez, Rashel, Poppy, Delos, Morgead, Quinn, Ash and Galen. I say G8, but in reality everyone else was out doing their _job _of saving the world.

"Why is it that every single plot ever starts off with us being bored off our faces?" Rashel asked as she sharpened a stake, "shouldn't we go to school, or college?"

"I can shoot fire from my fingertips, Rashel," Jez said, "I really don't need an education."

Rashel shoved her spike into Jez's face, the tip a millimetre from her eye, and then she brought it back and placed it next to her leg, "Coffee run, Jezabel?" Rashel asked.

Jez scowled, standing up and edging around the coffee table away from Rashel, "Anyone in?"

Everyone shook their heads, telling her what they wanted, and Jez stalked from the room, grumbling. She grabbed her coat from the overflowing coat hook, retied her doc's, and exited the household, slamming the door extra hard so they could all hear how pissed she was.

"I don't even drink coffee," she muttered, dragging her bike out of the garage and mounting it, "how the hell am I gonna get coffee home on a motor bike, anyway?" She figured that she's burn, I mean cross that bridge when she came to it.

Ten minutes later Jez found herself surrounded by people in a crowded coffee shop, grimacing as she ordered the outlandish amount of coffee _out of her own damn money_.

"That's all?" The cashier asked, smiling as she took all of Jez's money.

"Yeah, thanks," Jez said, manoeuvring all the coffee around in her arms – _good job I'm resistant to heat _– and pushed her way out of the coffee shop and the mall to the large parking area.

She was too preoccupied with the coffee and whispering curses and chants under her breath to notice the cylinder roll out from the shadows. Her shoe hit it and she slipped, losing her balance with a shriek and falling backwards to the floor.

Jez would've said she saw her life flash past her if not for the wave of images she was receiving had nothing to do with her, a quick slideshow of human history and blood shed that made her head rock and then-.

The coffee cups smashed into her face, spilling hot coffee everywhere, she shrieked, rolling out the way and standing up.

All was silent.

She was still in the multi storey car park.

She was still wearing her Doc's.

She still had coffee seeping into her _goddamn skull. _

She winced at the coffee that was everywhere, sighting the cylinder. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands and muttering, "I wasted 30 dollars due to you." It wasn't anything spectacular, a small black cylinder, the black paint was flaking off to reveal a silver undercoat, and it had small chips and dents.

Nonetheless, Jez shoved it into her pocket, replacing her keys with it, and stomped over to her bike, starting it up and setting off home.

Whatever this thing was, she was gonna _melt it to death._

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><p>"It's just a cylinder, Jez," Thierry sighed, looking it over for the fifth billion time, "I'm sorry about your money."<p>

The G8 had turned into the G12, Jez called a meeting to discuss this death bringing cylinder of money stealing death, "But I saw things, Thierry, things I'd rather not see."

The G12 were tightly packed around the kitchen table, Thierry, Hannah, Ash, Quinn, Delos, Morgead, Jez, Rashel, Maggie, Poppy, Galen, and Keller. Close enough that practically everyone's shoulders were touching.

"You've finally lost it," Ash smirked, taking the cylinder from Thierry, "Jez, babe, I know a doctor that can help yo-"

"Shut up, Ash," Jez snapped, ready to rip out his throat.

"Maybe it reacts to your powers," Hannah said quietly, seizing the cylinder and tapping it, "it wouldn't surprise me."

"Okay, we'll test it, pass," Delos said, "I'm the perfect candidate."

Delos took the cylinder, elongating his teeth and biting his arm lightly, enough to draw blood.

Then his eyes went wide, he began to shake, Maggie grabbed him and shook him whilst everyone else looked on in silence. Delos stopped shaking and burst out laughing, butting the cylinder down, "Nope, nothing in the slightest."

Jez scowled, _ridiculed in my own home, _she thought as she reached for the cylinder, _what assho- _

She didn't get the chance to finish that sentence, as her fingers touched the cylinder, and everything became black and painful and unconsciousness consumed her.

Jez awoke surrounded by water, dirt and stones with a throbbing migraine, _why won't the light shut up_ she though to herself before she looked up, finding herself in a stream. Water reeds lined the stream, and a few metres away there was a small settlement. People were beginning to leave their houses, and they didn't look, well, modern in the slightest.

From her side, Rashel hefted herself up, groaning.

They looked at the settlement, then at each other.

"Jez," Rashel said slowly, "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

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><p><strong>AAAAAA. <strong>

**I had more, but, more next chapter!**

**The _"Why won't the light shut up" _wasn't a shout out to Arthur Kirkland or anything. **


	2. Chapter 2

**INTRODUCTION 1b. **

**I was talking to someone on facebook, fully intending to not finish this, when I started rambling about Poppy gatecrashing ****Château de ****Versailles. **_**Died **_**of laughter and wrote.**

**Warning: Not Beta'd. Kill meeee. **

**Listening to: Rotten Town, Ludo. **

**Author's Notes: I'm treating this like its Live Journal. KILL IT WITH FIAR. Also, don't speak French? Don't worry, I'll write in English next chapter, I don't speak that froggy language either ;) **

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><p>Poppy slammed into the table and over it with a shriek, spilling food <em>everywhere<em>. She felt a heavy body upon hers, and when she opened her eyes she found Thierry to be blinking on top of her. He leapt up, crashing into the table, and she quickly followed. They turned to see a ruffled looking man in extravagant dress, poised guards, and about a 100 shocked nobles.

"Qui ose interrompre le Roi de Soleil pendant son repas?" The man shrieked in what sounded like French.

"Thierry, do you speak French?" Poppy muttered.

"Vaguely. He said something like '_Who is this that dares to interrupt the sun king whilst he's eating. _Or he might've been talking about riding horses through Prussian bars whilst screaming and dancing naked, you can never tell with Google Translate._" _

"Aha, bonjour," Poppy smiled her sweetest smile and clumsily curtsied, she might've failed history, but she knew who Le Roi de Soleil was, and you don't screw with that guy.

"Qui êtes-vous?" A noble, apparently familiar with the king, snapped.

"I… Sorry I apologize I don't, erm…" Poppy stammered, "_non, non parler Français?" _

"Excusez-moi?"

"Where are we?"

"Parlez vous français?"

"Erm, English."

Panicked cries rang out throughout the room of "_ANGLAIS?" _and "_Euh, mon dieu!" _and _"Aren't we at war with them?_" which received the reply, "_We're always at war with them._"

"N'importe qui parle l'anglais?" The aforementioned noble friend of the sun king asked.

"Moi!" A woman said hesitantly, stepping from the crowd, "Good afternoon."

"Hey," Poppy said to the woman, smiling, unlike Thierry, she was strangely oblivious, and hadn't noticed the approaching guards and the way the Sun King was muttering something like "Does it matter if we understand them? They're _anglais_."

She heard Anglais again, and it was beginning to piss her off being referred to as English when she was blatantly American, stupid French. "Actually, we're American."

"L'_AMERIQUE?" _

Thierry slunk up behind Poppy and whispered in her ear, "I don't mean to interrupt, Poppy, but one; America hasn't even properly been colonized yet, and two; we're about to be seized."

Poppy nodded, "better if we go without a fight."

"Oui," Thierry's lip curled up, "meet you outside in ten?"

"Sure."

le temps est 1682.

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><p>The man pushed into James and sent him flying into Morgead, who held him steady. It was <em>purely <em>his surprise that made him stumble, _not his lack of balance, or anything. _The pair had been lucky enough to appear standing up and not lying on the floor; they'd be dead if they had, by the roar of the crowd and the general excitement in the air. The square was packed, at the front stood a man on a podium, a stream of propaganda coming from his mouth in thick, Russian slur.

"Where are we?" Morgead asked, tall enough to see over the top of the crowd, much to James' short dismay.

"Russia, isn't that obvious?" He snapped, sliding on his ray bands to shield himself from the harsh glare of sunlight reflecting off the snow.

"Could be Ukraine, or some other Baltic country, or Italy."

"Italy?"

"They speak Russian there."

"Morgead, you are a tribute to the 'American's Fail at Geography Forever' rumour."

"Rumour?" he smirked, "Have you ever been in a 11th grade geography class, James?"

Morgead, being actually tall enough to see over the heads of people in the crowd if he stood on his toes, stared at the man with a mixture of confusion and awe.

"Hey, this guys pretty cool." He said.

"Morgead, what's he saying, I can't see. And what do you mean he's cool?"

"Hahaha, you're a midget."

"And you're a communist."

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><p>Hannah was slammed into a wall by the mob, it was rather painful, and she winced, watching them stream past chanting and yelling.<p>

"Viva la revolution!"

"Mon dieu," she gasped in exasperation, "I've lived through Revolutionary France once already, not again."

She was surprisingly calm about the time travelling thing. Her smile was soft as she thought of how everyone else must've been freaking out. Jez was probably bitching, Poppy would be making a fool of herself, Ash – regardless of where he was, or what was happening – would be asking a girl _'your place or mine, baby? Not that I have place, kind of inbetween.'. _She spared a thought for the others.

"Ma famille, eh, fous ces. _Wait, why am I speaking French?_"

"_**CUT.**_" Someone exclaimed, and Hannah looked up to see the mob had stopped a little off to the side and were looking exasperated, directly in front of her there stood an entire film crew and a furious looking director sporting a hipster pink pin stripe shirt, "What is she doing on my set?" He exclaimed, "Well, whatever, just, like, get her in a dress, or something and make her an extra."

Hannah looked on in shock as a woman in overalls pulled her off where they were apparently filming, as they passed the director on the way to the tents, he muttered, "I god damn swear, you can't even make a movie about French ninja pirate rebellions in 2072 without someone bitching and fangirling."

Wait, what?

Why was he that detailed then?

It's almost like someone's watching in and the author is too half arsed to correctly insert where Hannah is, or what period of history she's in, or future, whatever. So she just makes someone say an outlandish, overly descriptive sentence.

_Wow._

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><p>"Do you think they speak English?" Jez asked, as a local poked her with a stick none to gently, "so I can tell them to <em>get the fuck off <em>in the politest way possible?"

"Jez, we've got to be in 100-something-BC, there is no way in hell they speak English."

"What if they kill us, you've heard Hannah and Thierry's stories, right?"

A shudder ran up Rashel's spine, yes, she had heard them, "I hope everyone else is okay," she said as the local's lead them into their village/scramble of shelters with a big fire pit, "I'm getting practically nothing through the thread, a tiny tug every now and again."

Jez remained silent, but she was thinking the same thing.

They appeared to be taking them to their elder; she was a short woman, young to be the elder, maybe a shaman. She approached them, tugging and inspecting. She threaded her hands through Jez's fiery hair, and tugged enough to make the girl yelp.

"Where do you think we are?" Jez asked.

"Somewhere in Europe, probably."

"Well no shit, Sherlock."

"That's a good show."

"Agreed."

The woman stepped back, turning to a tall man of the group and saying something that in English would sound something like demon.

They found themselves instantly surrounded by spears and _savages like the anglais. _

"I blame you for this."

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><p><em>Drip, drip, drip <em>the water collected in pans and puddles on the floor. Quinn cracked his eye open, awoken by the noise.

"W-whe-?" He began, losing his voice. The only light in the room was from the moonlight pooling in through the windows. There was a desk, with the silhouette leaning against into it.

"Who are you?" Quinn asked, looking down to see why he couldn't move; he was firmly clamped into the ground by tight wooden chains.

The person was silent for a second, before answering Quinn's question with another.

"Do you like history, Quinn?" the silhouette said in a feminine voice, "I do."

Quinn didn't reply.

"Do you like the rain, Quinn?" She spoke again, humour in her tone, "because I don't. All this _noise._ I really will have to ask Sammy to call a plumber."

"Why are you doing this?"

"In good time, Quinn," she murmured, before spinning round, "tea?"

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><p><strong>And the people that know my old writing scream and fall of their chair at that last section. <strong>

**I AM SO TIRED. **

**I HAVE NO BETA. **

**I WANT WHIPPED CREAM.**

**Next upload we conclude with Introduction 1c in which Ash... I'm trying to think of something sexual that rhymes with Huns or Kraut. ASH GETS HAWT WITH SOME KRAUTS. There. **

**Then you can actually have some idea what the fuck is going on. **

**If I get a single review saying "I don't understand what's going on," I will kindly direct you to Tick Tock Goes The Clock. Want to have confusion? Read that bitch. **

**My favourite plotline by far is Hannah's. **


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